


By Moon And Stars

by kellifer_fic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Arranged Marriage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you heard of this Alpha?" Stiles asks, shuffling up his pallet so Scott has room to sit. Scott does with a grateful little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it's heavy and doesn't sit well on Scott. He can't shift encased in metal and Stefan knows it.</p><p>"I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories."</p><p>"Tell me of him. Tell me a war story."</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Moon And Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loquerer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquerer/gifts).



> Charity fic for the very generous loquerer who wanted a GoT fusion based on [this](http://littleartbot.tumblr.com/post/46833209477/wanted-to-post-this-sunday-to-sorta-celebrate-the) amazing artwork by [littleartbot](http://littleartbot.tumblr.com/). No knowledge of the source material required as this is... pretty different.
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta LariaGwyn who, to put it simply, makes me better. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Stiles tries to stop from jolting forward as his older brother, Stefan jerks at his tunic in a dissatisfied way. He's frowning at Stiles, which isn't anything new, but he's mostly frowning at the way Stiles is dressed instead of the fact that he's irking Stefan by existing.

"Are we really reduced to such rags?" Stefan asks, sounding infuriated. He and Scott look uneasily at each other, because they're not sure who Stefan is addressing. If they get it wrong, they'll both wear his wrath. Stiles doesn't want to see Scott punished so he falls on the proverbial sword.

"It's-" he starts to say.

"I've heard that if you speak when not directly addressed in shifter lands, they cut out your tongue." Stefan gives him a speculative look. "I would say that would be an improvement for you."

Stiles fights the urge to look at Scott when Stefan berates him. Scott has been his guardian and friend since he was a child, a shifter himself taken in and given to Stiles as the only companion he was worthy of in his older brother's eyes. Stiles is careful to hide their closeness, knows that if Scott is someone that can be used to threaten Stiles, then Stefan will do it.

Scott is aiding them venturing into shifter lands now, their guide and passport. Stefan is power hungry, grew weary of _hiding under a rock_ as he called it when he came of age. Instead, he took three hundred of their father's loyal men and Stiles, struck out for shifter lands and the promise of a vast army to take back a crown he believes is his.

Stiles' heart clenches when he thinks of his father, his once kind face and indulgent smile. Stiles sometimes wonders if Stefan hates him so much because his father has always obviously favoured Stiles, the spitting image of his mother.

"Well, there’s nothing for it now," Stefan huffs. "Inadequate as you are, I’m surprised I was able to find anyone to trade you for an army. I can’t imagine the kind of flea-infested curs I’m going to be lumped with."

"The Hale pack isn't the biggest, but they are ferocious and they have yet to lose a battle," Scott says.

"If I want your opinion, mutt, I'll ask for it," Stefan snaps and Scott nods and subsides, accepting the rebuke. Stiles is angry on his behalf unlike anything he can ever muster for himself, but he doesn't dare show it. "Now, let's try the blue. It might go better with your eyes and it doesn't look as frayed," he adds.

Dressed, Stiles is finally left alone with Scott and he slumps on his pallet.

"I could kill him," Scott offers with a lopsided grin and Stiles lets out a snort.

He makes a show of thinking about it and then shakes his head. "He's the eldest and he's right. I'm just a burden."

"Stiles, you're not a burden," Scott argues.

"Okay, fine. I'm a bargaining chip then. A bride price. I'm certainly not an equal."

"I'm glad you're not Stefan's equal," Scott says. "He mistakes cruelty for strength."

"Cruelty gets followed," Stiles says and Scott shakes his head.

"Not by everyone. We're down fifty men already and I'm sure that number will drop again tonight. They steal away under darkness."

"That's because they don't like where we are."

"It's because of your _brother_. They stayed with your father because they loved him, even though he had barely the money to clothe and feed them, the means to house them. Stefan is a monster and he's going to get us all killed."

"Why do _you_ stay?" Stiles asks. He'd been surprised that Scott had not melted away when they crossed the border into shifter lands from the common territories. Scott might have been raised amongst humans, but he was always seen as less because of his heritage and here, in this place, he might find a true home.

"For you," Scott says. "You're likely to fall down a hole without me, never to be seen again."

"It's true," Stiles says and they smile for a moment, the tension from Stefan's presence slowly ebbing. "How long?"

"Another day, maybe two," Scott says. "They'll be getting ready to leave their winter camp so we're cutting it close. Once they move on we won't be able to find them until the end of the dry season."

"Have you heard of this Alpha?" Stiles asks, shuffling up his pallet so Scott has room to sit. Scott does with a grateful little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it's heavy and doesn't sit well on Scott. He can't shift encased in metal and Stefan knows it.

"I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories."

"Tell me of him. Tell me a war story," Stiles invites.

"Well, his father's pack met another pack twice their size in battle and won. His father spared the defeated Alpha but the defeated Alpha was without pride, only lusted for revenge. When a pack goes out to battle, they leave their young and their elderly camped nearby. The defeated Alpha found this encampment when he retreated and killed them all, burnt the bodies so the smoke could be seen for miles."

"That's awful," Stiles says, horrified.

"His father never forgave himself for sparing the creature that would do this. He went into the wastes and never returned, leaving an untested boy of only nine summers with a pack. Other Alphas heard that his pack was weakened and thought to challenge him, take his pack from him but this boy led his pack and defeated all comers. It's said that he is the spirit of fury itself, made undefeatable by grief and anger."

Stiles only knows he's gaping when Scott puts fingers under his chin and presses his mouth closed. "Okay, now I'm officially terrified of this guy."

"You'll be okay. I have your back," Scott says, but Stiles has known Scott long enough to recognise that the shifter is also more than a little nervous about what's to come.

*

Stiles wonders if he'll ever get used to humiliation.

He thinks he should by now, derided by his brother and pitied by everyone else. Second son of a dethroned monarch, living in a keep with a roof that leaks worse through every rain storm and a dwindling army. He knows he's not badly off compared to some, people in this world go hungry, lose loved ones, fight in wars. Stiles was not much more than a babe at breast when his father was ousted so he can't even claim to mourn past luxury.

Still, being checked over like one of his father's horses gone to market is a special kind of discomfort, allowing something small and sick to settle in his stomach. Scott is there, as always his friendly shadow, but Stiles for once wishes he wasn't as the broad man in front of him peels back his lips to look at his teeth, tilts his head this way and that to judge gods know what.

They caught up with Alpha Hale's pack right before they were leaving camp. It was an awesome sight, and made Stiles temporarily forget his impending peril. The shifters were efficient, stripping down dwellings that had stood through the cold months, leaving no trace of themselves behind except for flattened ground and the smell of smoke. Stiles had leaned into Scott without even realizing he was doing it, wanting to share the spectacle with someone.

"Maybe we can find your family," Stiles had said in a low voice and Scott had grunted, a noncommittal noise. Scott, when they were both children, had talked about his mother often, how he had missed her, but his words and his hope had dried up and now he seemed resolved to follow in Stiles' wake. Stiles was determined to release Scott, as soon as he was able. He hoped that once he was married he and any that belonged to him would be out from under the direct influence of Stefan.

It was something to look forward to, a small sliver of light on a dark day.

The man says something and Scott winces, seems to ask a question and gets only a glare in response. Stiles doesn't understand the shifter language, will never be able to speak it. Scott had tried to teach him a few sounds but he could not discern the difference between intonations, knows that it takes a shifter's better senses to parse meaning. He'd been hoping that some of the shifters would speak the common tongue like Scott, but his hopes dwindled as the day wore on and they all let Scott translate for him.

Stefan had always said that Stiles loved the sound of his own voice, and that was truly fortunate if it was the only one he would understand for the remainder of his life.

"He wants you to strip," Scott says, sounding apologetic. Stiles understands the question now, the impatience in the man's face. Obviously Scott had asked if it was necessary. "He wants to make sure you’re not hiding any defects under your clothes."

"That's fine," Stiles sighs, feeling defeated.

When Stiles is able to pull his tunic back on, after being poked and prodded thoroughly and the strange shifter making a noise that Stiles hoped was not dissatisfaction, he looks to Scott. The shifter had made comments when he was looking Stiles over but Scott had not translated and he figures the news isn't good.

He's wrong though, luckily. "He's pleased, although he says you need to eat more and let the sun kiss your skin now that the cold season is over."

"If he wants me to look red as a dragon fruit, sure," Stiles huffs and the man gives him a puzzled look.

"You burn?" he asks, his voice guttural but the words understandable.

"You speak common?" Stiles asks, trying not to sound too excited.

"It has become necessary as your people sweep the land like..." He makes a noise, then gestures at Scott.

"Pests," Scott supplies and Stiles pulls a face.

"We do tend to propagate like weeds," Stiles agrees. "What's your name?" Stiles then swallows, because he remembers what Stefan had claimed, that he was risking his tongue by speaking out of turn with a shifter but the man simply looks him up and down one more time and then makes another noise, shorter and sharper than the rest.

"Boyd?" Scott hazards, the closest in common to the noise the man had made. He raises his eyebrows but then nods slowly.

"Boyd," he agrees.

"So, do I pass muster?" Stiles asks. When Boyd just gives him a puzzled frown, Stiles flails his hands. "Um, am I all... good?"

"I’m pleased," Boyd says, but before Stiles can feel too relieved, he adds, "I cannot speak to my Alpha. He will see you. He will keep you or discard you as he wishes."

"Great," Stiles grunts.

*

Stefan is eating when they return to the tent they'd been given. Stefan had made a face at having to share, but he'd held his tongue for once, sensing that until the Alpha approved of Stiles as a mate and they reached a formal agreement, he was being barely tolerated. They'd had to ride with the pack when they first arrived, Stiles being taken to be inspected as soon as they had stopped for the evening and it's the first time in two days Stiles has been able to rest or eat.

Stefan throws him a heel of bread, doesn't bother offering Scott anything although Scott has been by his side constantly and Stiles knows that he hasn't had anything either. Stiles breaks the bread he was given in half and offers it to Scott but he refuses.

"You heard Boyd. _You_ have to eat more," he scolds quietly and Stiles rolls his eyes, presses the bread more firmly into Scott's hands.

Stiles knows better than to try and sit at table with Stefan, lowers himself on his pallet instead and pulls his boots off his aching feet.

"I've been assured that the Alpha will be back with his hunting party by tomorrow. We'll know then whether it was truly a waste to bring you squalling into this world or not," Stefan huffs through a full mouth.

"The shifter that-" Scott starts to say and Stefan throws a bone at him, gnawed clean.

"There you go, can't say I never feed the dog," he says, chortling in an ugly way at his own joke.

"You'd best be careful," Stiles warns. He knows he should probably wish an ugly death on his brother for all the abuse he receives, but he can't bring himself to. There's something of his father in his brother's face and he can't bring himself to hate it. "They might not take kindly to words like that."

"You think they would care that I insult your pet?" Stefan snorts. "They think of him worse than I do. They see him as a shifter playing at human, bowing and scraping with no honor."

Stiles looks at Scott quickly, sees his jaw tense which is the only outward sign that Stefan's words are cutting him deep.

"Don't-" Stiles starts to say, knows it's a mistake as soon as he utters a sound. His brother does this sometimes, baits him into a fight so he has an excuse to hurt others like he craves. He stands, pushing his chair back and grinning.

"Stand up," he says slowly, expression turning predatory when Stiles levers himself to his feet. Right when Stefan pulls a fist back to strike him, Scott steps in his way. "How dare you!" Stefan screams, punching Scott instead.

Scott takes the hit, stands up to his full height and says calmly, "Think on what you are doing. They stripped Stiles of his clothing today. The Alpha will probably do the same when he arrives tomorrow to check that Stiles is not spoiled in any way. Do you think he would take kindly to fresh marks?"

"He wouldn't care," Stefan says, but he sounds unsure and he snorts, disgusted and returns to his table. "You, sleep," he orders, pointing a finger at Stiles. "You, find somewhere else to be," he adds, glaring at Scott and Scott nods and pushes the tent flap aside and disappears outside.

Stiles lies down, waits for Stefan to speak, to come up with a punishment that is not physical. He knows it's coming, Stefan is never one to be deprived of sport. When he does, it's what Stiles has always feared. "When I leave with the shifter warriors your useless face buys, I'm taking the dog with me. When we march on the Capital, he will be in the first line. I will make sure he falls in the campaign even if I have to push him into the path of a silver arrow myself."

Stiles closes his eyes, grips his blanket under his chin and tries not to make a noise, although his grief threatens to claw itself out of his throat.

*

Stiles is expecting the Alpha's tent to be ostentatious, and while it's a little larger than those surrounding it, it's the same dun color and set up for practicality over comfort. Stiles, Scott and Stefan are escorted by Boyd so while Stiles is thankful for a somewhat familiar face, he still feels encroaching dread as they approach the tent.

Stiles stumbles a little when they push through the tent opening. He looks up and feels his mouth unhinge, tries to bite down on any kind of noise. It's clear who the Alpha is as soon as they enter and the man is frankly the most attractive creature Stiles has ever encountered. Despite the chill of the day, he's wearing only roughly sewn breeches and a furred mantle around his shoulders.

His hair is cropped short which seems to be the preferred style for the shifter males. Stiles cuts a glance at Stefan whose hair touches his shoulders which is the fashion in the Capital. Stiles' own hair is about as short as any shifter since Stefan had said that he would be mistaken for a woman with it longer.

The Alpha's gaze is piercing and he leans sideways and says something to the man standing beside him who meets him to respond. Stefan throws a glare at them and then jabs Scott roughly in the side. "Well, what are they saying?" he demands.

"I don't... I don't think it's flattering," Scott says.

"You are here to fulfill one duty and that's to translate these animals," Stefan hisses. Stiles opens his mouth to interrupt, unsure if Stefan's aware that some of the shifters can speak common and that their hearing is terrifyingly excellent if Scott and Stiles' experiments are anything to go by but Stefan pinches Stiles cruelly on the elbow to keep him quiet. "If you cannot do your one job then you can go back to our father's keep and rot with him."

Scott makes a distressed noise and shuffles closer to Stiles, like he can stave off the possibility by proximity. "He's saying that someone must have scooped out half your brother's brain to fit eyes so large in his head, and his skin is marked like the night sky."

Stiles immediately puts a self conscious hand to his face. His brother called the marks on his skin flecks of mud, proof that he was no better than dirt. They sweep his entire body and Stiles has always loathed them.

"This is nothing more than an old horse trader's trick," Stefan snorts, unimpressed. "Disparage the merchandise so you can get it cheaper. They will not be cheating me out of what was promised."

Stiles is frankly horrified by Stefan's words, especially with an audience. Boyd makes a disgruntled noise behind them but Stefan ignores it, instead prods Scott forward. "Tell them I wish to settle this now."

Scott tilts his head to the side. Stiles watches him, realizes he’s baring his throat, showing submission to the Alpha who nods and only then does he move forward. As they speak, Stiles realizes that there's a cadence to the shifter language, almost a melody to it. He thinks maybe it might be possible to learn enough to get by, that the way Scott speaks it is harsh and difficult sounding but the Alpha almost makes the yips, growls and vibrations like a song.

Stiles wonders if maybe Boyd would be willing to take a turn at teaching him as it seems like the trouble might have been with the teacher rather than the student.

That's all far in the future though and Stiles, for now, simply needs to not be cast out by the Alpha as unsatisfactory. He's not sure how he'll manage it since Stefan has always been right, he's less than he could've been, a disappointment.

The Alpha shuffles Scott aside with a touch and approaches. Stefan raises himself up, looks disgruntled when the Alpha disregards him to stand in front of Stiles. He reaches a hand up and for a panicky moment, Stiles thinks the Alpha means to strip him, but instead he puts a thumb to Stiles' lip. His face is hard, his eyes shrewd but his touch is more gentle than Stiles was expecting.

He growls something and Scott says from behind him, "Three thousand."

Stefan blinks, obviously thrown. Stiles knows that he'd been promised a thousand shifters for Stiles if the Alpha agreed to take him. Three thousand is his entire pack.

"You-" Stefan starts to say but the Alpha interrupts him and Scott translates.

"He says he will not risk you taking him somewhere else, that the one thousand was because he..." Scott's eyes grow large and round for a moment and he bites his lip, like he's trying not to laugh. "He says it was because he expected someone that looked more like you."

"What?" Stefan roars. "I won't stand here and be insulted!"

Scott translates, something like real mirth on his face even though Stefan didn't ask him and when the Alpha replies, Scott says, "So go outside and be insulted. He cares not."

"That's-" Stefan starts, reaches to take a hold of Stiles but the Alpha grabs his wrist, squeezes until Stefan cries out. What he says then is so low that it feels like it vibrates through Stiles' chest.

"He says the deal is not yet done, that there is the binding and the ceremonial gifts. If you want an entire pack, one that has never been defeated in battle, to take your precious throne back, then you will agree and set your pride aside." He tosses Stefan's hand aside like it disgusted him to have a hold of it.

"I am a Stilinski, rightful heir of the lands to the North. I won't be treated like a beggar."

Scott translates that and then moves back to Stiles' side as the Alpha steps back.

"You are a beggar."

Stefan is furious, but he's also not used to people standing up to him and Stiles is surprised to see him back down, flounce out of the tent with a poisonous look. Stiles watches him go, then turns back to the Alpha, who huffs and says something to Scott.

"He says you shouldn't look so afraid," Scott translates. "He’s not interested in an unwilling bed mate,” Scott looks a mixture of relieved, probably on Stiles’ behalf, and curious. “But he will only let you be decorative for so long despite being so…”

“So what?” Stiles prods, watching the way Scott is scrunching his face up although he can guess. Probably more of the same he’s been hearing for his entire life. “So annoying, so frustrating, so _useless_? Which one?”

“There isn’t an equivalent in the common tongue for what he said,” Scott explains. The Alpha is looking between them both with furrowed brows, smacks Scott in the arm and grunts something and Scott scowls at him. “He thinks my translation must be bad for you to be wearing such a sour face.”

“It is bad,” Stiles grumbles.

“I’m trying,” Scott complains. “I haven’t spoken shifter language since I was a kid and they have a lot of… slang.”

“Well, ask him for another word. I’m dying to know what he really thinks of me,” Stiles says sarcastically and Scott rolls his eyes, but does. His own eyebrows pick up when the Alpha barks an answer.

“Despite being so beautiful,” Scott says and Stiles blinks for a second, before turning wide, surprised eyes on the Alpha. Scott huffs out a laugh and Stiles can’t believe that a growl can sound so smirky. “There, that’s the expression he was expecting.”

*

The tall man who'd been at the Alpha's side during their meeting pushes into their tent later. Stefan had retreated to where their own men were camped, possibly to stomp about and feel important again and Stiles feels the real relief that only comes without Stefan's presence. It dries up when the shifter appears but Scott doesn't look disturbed, introduces the other shifter as Isaac and clasps his hand in greeting.

He possibly looks so pleased because Isaac has a large haunch of meat and a flagon of something strong smelling with him that he sets on the table and gestures for them to help themselves. Scott hesitates but Stiles simply waves at him to eat and Scott sets about carving the meat into thick slices. The smell is heavenly, the meat still warm from the fire and Stiles accepts the plate Scott passes him gratefully, amused when Scott doesn't bother with such niceties, instead choosing to pick up the large bone that still has about two thirds of the meat wrapped around it to gnaw on contentedly.

Stiles continues to be surprised when Isaac also speaks common. "My Alpha wants you to learn a few phrases in our tongue for the binding."

"I tried learning some of your language from Scott," Stiles says, grimacing at him. "It didn't go well."

"It might be better if you learned from another human, hm?" Isaac proposes. "You can't make all of the noises we can with your mouth, but there are ways to compensate."

"Well, if you've got another human around that speaks your language, that would be great."

"We have three," Isaac says, shrugging.

"There are three humans here?" Stiles asks, astounded.

"There are three humans that are pack, yes," Isaac confirms, nodding. "Lydia has volunteered for the duty. She claims she's... bored enough to indulge our Alpha in his whims."

"She what?" Stiles splutters.

Isaac pulls a face that Stiles doesn't really understand, not knowing him well, then scratches his nose and says, "Lydia is... different." Isaac pokes his head back out of the tent then, makes a high pitched yelping noise that carries. A few minutes later a red haired girl appears with a heart-shaped face and clever eyes. She's wearing a long green dress that looks a little out of place considering the mostly utilitarian garb the shifters are in.

"Stiles, is it?" she asks, advancing on him and holding out a hand. Stiles blinks at it for a moment before he realizes he's meant to take it. He goes to kiss her hand which is the common greeting but Lydia takes it back before he has the chance, tutting. "No," she snaps and actually flicks him on the forehead with her thumb and index finger.

Stiles looks helplessly back at Scott who shrugs, looking far too amused.

"Like this," Lydia says, taking Stiles' hand and pressing it to the side of her throat. "If you greet anyone with a higher status than you and, honey, until you're mated, _everyone_ is of a higher status than you, take their hand and place it like this, to show submission."

Stiles supposes it was naive to think that the shifters didn't have any kind of rigid social etiquette. Lydia drops his hand, holds her own out and he takes it gently, presses it to his neck. He raises his eyebrows at her and she nods. "Good. You might not survive getting it wrong around here. Shifters are touchy."

Stiles is starting to understand that _different_ as a description of Lydia didn't do her justice.

Isaac makes an inquiring noise behind Lydia and she waves him off, dismissive. He looks at Scott, says something and Scott shakes his head. Stiles frowns at him and says, "What did he ask you?"

"Oh, uh, they're playing some kind of game on the other side of the encampment and he wanted to know if I wanted to join but-"

"You don't?" Stiles asks, knowing Scott must be desperately bored babysitting him. It will be good for Scott to interact with other shifters without his human charge. Stiles doesn't believe what Stefan had said, that the shifters think less of Scott for being with them. None of them have shown any outward sign of it so far.

"It's not-"

"You can go, if you want to," Stiles prompts gently as Lydia watches them, interested.

Scott chews on his lip for a moment, conflicted. Stiles huffs and makes the same dismissive gesture at him that Lydia made at Isaac and she makes an impressed noise. Stiles thinks maybe some of the _compensation_ Isaac had alluded to isn't vocal at all, but possibly body language. He can work with that. He’s always used his hands as much as his mouth to talk.

Scott grins, goes to follow Isaac but Stiles catches him by the elbow before he disappears. "What's the game?" he asks, intrigued.

"I’m not exactly sure. Something called knuckles," Scott says.

"Do I want to know?" Stiles asks.

"Probably not."

"Fine, go have fun while I'm stuck here _learning_ ," Stiles sighs.

"Learning _is_ fun," Lydia says haughtily.

Two hours passes faster than Stiles could have believed and he thinks he might have gotten to the point where he could say _hello_ and possibly ask for bread when Lydia flops backwards indelicately and says, "Okay, enough. You're starting to hurt my brain."

"I don't mean to be a slow learner," Stiles says, scrunching his face up. "Stefan always said I was born with emptiness between my ears."

"Are you kidding?" Lydia snaps, sitting back up and smacking Stiles on the knee. "It's a very difficult language and you're starting with a handicap. I'm amazed at your progress."

"How did you end up here?" Stiles asks, uncomfortable with praise since he's so unused to it.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" Lydia asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, should I?"

"I'm Lydia _Martin_ ," she says and Stiles frowns at her.

"My father had a Bannerman, Rodrick Martin."

"That's my father, or was. When your father was deposed, mine was hounded all the way back to our holdings by Lord Daehler's men. They laid siege to us for ten years. My father had me smuggled out with a handful of his most trusted men when it became apparent that Daehler meant to starve us out. We were set upon by mercenaries soon after and I was left with a single guardian when we crossed into shifter lands. Ser Whittemore was brave and challenged a shifter in exchange for our lives and a place in the pack. He won."

"That's-" Stiles is lost for words and Lydia smiles, a fond expression.

"We were meant to be married," Lydia says and Stiles' mouth drops open.

"What?"

"You and I. Your father had promised mine in exchange for his support, not that it mattered in the end."

"Wow," Stiles breathes. "I had no idea."

"Funny how life works out."

*

Stiles encounters his second human the next day when he's trying to stay out of the way when the camp packs up to move again. Stefan's retreated to the dubious safety of their own men but Stiles stays amongst the shifters with Scott, fascinated. He listens to them work and talk, laugh. He's heard so many horror stories about them but those seem far off when he can watch children shift into gamboling pups and be yelled at good-naturedly by adults when they get underfoot.

Scott stiffens beside him as his nostrils flare. Stiles is immediately on alert for a threat, but when he turns there's a dark-haired girl standing behind them, holding a bow loosely by her side and with a quiver of arrows across her back. Stiles doesn't understand Scott's rigidity but figures one of them should be polite. He tilts his head, offers his throat and the girl huffs a laugh.

"I'm not anyone's superior, but thank you," she says.

"Not a shifter," Scott whispers out of the side of his mouth.

"Oh, sorry!" Stiles says.

"That's fine, just, shifters don't tend to carry weapons. It's a good way to spot a human when you're in a pack."

"Good to know," Stiles says, then elbows Scott who's still gaping at the girl a little. "I'm Stiles and this is Scott."

"I know," the girl says. "I'm Allison."

"No title, no lineage?" Stiles asks. He's still a little thrown when he doesn't get a history lecture with his introductions as seems to be the norm in the Capital and the surrounding areas.

"You didn't offer any," Allison points out.

"Doesn't seem like the done thing."

"Well, apart from Alpha, the shifters have their own ways of identifying rank and importance. They don’t use titles with lands and money attached. Their names are just...names. It's nice."

"So, are you staying out of the way too?" Stiles asks as Allison joins them, Scott shuffling awkwardly sideways to include her in their little semi circle.

"I've been with the pack two seasons and I still feel like more of a hindrance than a help when they do this," she admits and Stiles smiles at her, glad to have someone to commiserate with in feeling less than useful.

"So, how'd you end up here?" Stiles asks. "You have me at a disadvantage knowing who I am."

"I'm a hostage actually," Allison says and both Stiles and Scott stare at her as one.

"Pardon?" Stiles chokes out.

"Some members of my family were involved in a... less than honorable trade in werewolf hide," Allison says. "I was in a caravan with my aunt in shifter lands when we were set upon. My Aunt and a handful of her men ran but I was taken by that pack. They were going to string me up as an example but I was lucky that this pack was sharing their camp grounds. The Alpha bargained for my life, said I would be a more useful living threat rather than a dead warning."

"That's-" Stiles starts to say, isn't sure _what_ it is or how to take the casual way Allison is describing her predicament. Scott looks incensed, growling deep in his chest until Stiles elbows him in the sternum.

"I'm okay, really," Allison says. "The Alpha believed me when I told him I had no idea what my Aunt and her mercenaries were doing. He asked that I stay to ensure the safety of his pack and others like it and I agreed. These people are... they've been kinder than I deserved and gave me a chance to defend myself. They didn't hold me accountable for actions that weren't my own."

"I'm starting to think that their violent reputations are completely unfounded," Stiles says, a little awed.

"Don't get me wrong, their form of justice is usually swift and bloody. They Hale pack are fair but not soft."

Stiles swallows, remembering how Lydia had told him that causing insult could cost him his life. He knows he needs to tread carefully, especially while he is not taken yet as the Alpha's mate. He might get a little leeway when that happens but even then, he knows he will be in a position where his actions could reflect on the entire pack, rather than being an individual slight.

He's suddenly and acutely terrified.

"Are you alright?" Scott asks, possibly hearing the way his heart races. Scott has said numerous times that he can hear the beat of Stiles' life blood from a mile away, can pick it out of a crowd. He can hear when Stiles is being dishonest and when his mood is good and when it's low. Stiles can't fathom being able to discern all of that from the steady thumping within a body but he likes how protected it makes him feel.

"I'm... yes," Stiles says, breathing deeply to slow his heart while Allison also starts to look concerned. Stiles sometimes has what Stefan calls a _coward's turn_ , where he has trouble taking air into himself and black clouds his vision, but Stiles catches it before it can get that far this time, just curls down to the ground and breathes into his knees for a few moments with Scott's warm hand resting on his nape.

"I'm sorry if it was something I-?" Allison starts to say and Stiles thinks it must be to Scott because her voice passes over him.

"He'll be okay," Scott says, his voice a reassuring rumble and Stiles closes his eyes, concentrates on the physical point of contact with Scott, the breeze shifting his clothes and just breathing.

*

Stiles' lessons with Lydia continue and she proves to be entertaining and engaging as well as an excellent teacher. She also tells Stiles what's going on with the pack so he doesn't have to ask. He knows Stefan is kept apprised of their movements but Stefan feels no need to share the information with Stiles.

"We're heading for a meeting place called the White Mountains," Lydia explains, by way of reward when Stiles manages a formal greeting for a non-pack member that will not result in him humiliating himself or the pack or possibly dying. "Other packs gather and offer tributes for the proposed mate of the betrothed Alpha."

"Tributes as in... I get presents?" Stiles asks, eyes going wide and interested.

Lydia laughs, batting a hand at Stiles. "I suppose you could see it that way, yes. Each pack will be trying to impress your Alpha with their generosity and resourcefulness. It's a way of showing off for them that doesn't involve bloodshed, which is rare. The last tributes you'll receive will be from your Alpha."

"I don't know why I'm getting excited, Stefan will just take whatever he thinks is valuable anyway," Stiles grumbles.

"He will _not_ ," Lydia says. "You may choose to give whatever tributes you wish to other members of the pack but no one can _take_ them."

"But-"

"He won't," Lydia repeats. "Unless he wants the Alpha to bury him up to his neck in the wastes and leave him for the sand worms to eat out his eyes."

Stiles gives Lydia an impressed look. She certainly knows how to paint a vivid picture.

"How far?" Stiles asks, not wanting to argue the point. Stefan will get his way like he always does and that will include laying hands on any trinkets Stiles receives if he thinks them of enough value.

"Another two days. I know humans tend to clump together but shifters travel vast distances and stay as far away from other packs as possible. We could go without encountering another pack for months if there wasn't a reason to seek them out."

Lydia's eyes suddenly widen and Stiles turns to see what she's staring at, is more than a little shocked that it's because the Alpha is standing just inside his tent, arms crossed. Stiles tries not to stare at the way this emphasises the muscles on his arms but he's having trouble swallowing with a suddenly dry throat.

Lydia smacks at Stiles and he scrambles to his feet as she does. She tilts her head and he mirrors her, watching the way she presses the Alpha's hand to her throat when he offers it and then does the same. The Alpha holds onto him for longer, pressing fingertips into the vulnerable flesh of Stiles' neck before he drops his hand, seemingly satisfied. He growls something and it sounds like an enquiry.

Lydia turns to Stiles to translate. "He wants us to eat with him. They brought down a large boar and it's been roasting for hours."

Stiles had started smelling the cooking meat an hour before. He’d had to fight off the urge to salivate and follow the scent like a puppy. It had started becoming hard to concentrate on Lydia with the maddening scent invading everything.

"How do I say yes please, I was about to eat my own tunic I was so hungry."

Lydia laughs, turns to the Alpha and nods, dimpling prettily. The Alpha jerks his head, a clear indication to follow him and Stiles tries not to trip over his own feet as he does. It helps that Lydia is behind him, pressing a small, insistent hand into his back.

They reach a large, cleared circle of ground in the middle of the encampment. There is indeed a spit set up with a boar being turned slowly by a younger, bored looking boy. Stiles recognizes Boyd and Isaac sitting and sharing a skin of something strong smelling. With them is also a blonde woman with bones woven through her hair and cheerful eyes, another man sitting ramrod straight and out of place in Capital dress and Scott, who waves jovially, eyes happy when he sees Stiles.

The Alpha sits amongst the wolves, a space clearly left beside him. Stiles hesitates, but Lydia prods him over before hunkering down next to the man Stiles doesn't know, fussing with her skirts until they're arranged to her liking. Stiles dithers slightly about sitting, but the Alpha just huffs and grasps his wrist, tugging him down. Stiles folds down gracelessly, ending up half sprawled across the Alpha and apologizes hurriedly as he rights himself, blushing. The others seem to be laughing at his antics so he's hopeful he didn't cause too much offense.

The Alpha isn't wearing his mantle, bared chest golden in the firelight and an intricate tattoo across his back. Stiles wants to lean back and see it properly but doesn't want to be rude, instead keeping his eyes firmly on his hands folded in his own lap.

Everyone receives a bowl of the boar meat except him and Stiles sighs, thinking maybe he's allowed to sit with the Alpha but not eat with him, but then there's a hand hovering in front of his face, holding a large chunk of meat. Stiles blinks at the Alpha who waggles the food, face unreadable in the dim light. Stiles reaches out tentatively, takes the piece from the Alpha's fingers and the Alpha nods before digging into his bowl to take a piece for himself.

Stiles is going to have to remember to ask Lydia about this one. Obviously gone are the days he has to worry about what piece of cutlery to use with dinner.

For now though, Stiles is busy eating the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. Grease runs down his chin and before he can catch it the Alpha presses a hand to him, tugs his face forward and licks over his mouth. He jerks backwards when Stiles squeaks in surprise and Scott is suddenly just _there_ , curled over Stiles and growling, a deep throated threat unlike anything Stiles has heard before.

"It's okay! I'm okay!" Stiles says, pawing at Scott, horrified that Scott might die here in front of him for threatening the Alpha. Scott stops snarling, although he remains curled defensively. The Alpha stands slowly, the other shifters at his shoulders. The man Stiles didn't recognize, sword at his hip that marks him as the third unknown human, Ser Whittemore Lydia had told him during one of their lessons, has tugged Lydia away although she throws a large-eyed worried glance at Stiles over her shoulder.

The Alpha growls, a long and earnest sound. Scott relaxes a little, says, "He's apologizing for taking liberties that aren't his yet."

"That's alright," Stiles says, pressing forward around Scott who still is trying to keep Stiles behind him. "I mean, it's only a matter of time before he's allowed to lick me whenever he likes, right?"

There's a tense moment where the shifters all look at each other, and then all but the Alpha start laughing. Scott relaxes the rest of the way as the Alpha ducks his head and if Stiles didn't know better, he would swear the Alpha looked embarrassed.

"He says we can go back to our own tent if we'll feel more comfortable. Isaac will bring us more food," Scott translates when the Alpha makes a sweeping motion and a short yip.

"No," Stiles says, looking between Scott and the Alpha. "We can stay."

*

"D'rek."

"Derek."

"D'rek."

"Derek."

" _D'rek_."

"I don't hear the difference between what I'm saying and what you're saying," Stiles moans, flopping back on his pallet and tugging a pillow over his face. It's nice to have something to call the Alpha other than _Alpha_ in his head but apparently he's yet to be able to pronounce it correctly. Despite Lydia assuring him that he's a fast learner, Stiles is starting to suspect that he's never going to learn enough of the language to stop from embarrassing himself or being able to hold any kind of meaningful conversation.

"It's subtle, but there's a difference," Lydia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"I don't get how you learned this. I don't get how anyone speaks it without fangs."

"You'll get it eventually."

"It's going to be a very quiet marriage," Stiles laments. When Lydia just looks at him, he says, "What?"

"You don't know?"

"Know _what_?"

"Oh, if you don't know, I'm certainly not telling you," Lydia says, sounding all too gleeful and heading out of this tent.

"You're the worst!" he calls after her.

"What did you say?" Ser Whittemore is suddenly scowling at him through the tent flaps.

"I said I'm the worst?" Stiles tries and Ser Whittemore snorts.

"I thought so," he huffs as he too disappears.

Stiles has just managed to rebury himself in bedding when there's someone clearing their throat from the outside of the tent. "Uh, yes?"

"May I enter?" a voice he doesn’t recognize asks.

"Um, sure?" Stiles says, scrambling up from his pallet and patting himself down, making sure he's presentable. Derek had sent him different clothing after the shared meal, comfortable, earth colored tunics in touch-soft fabrics that were much better than the scratchy, stiff garments of the Capital that his brother preferred. He's not dressed like the shifter warriors by any stretch of the imagination, but Stiles doesn't feel like he's been dressed as less than them either.

An older man, handsome with lines around his eyes and a stubbled jaw steps into the tent. Stiles knows who it is, Lydia had pointed him out when they'd walked through the pack's camp earlier. The shifter had seen them looking, smiled their way and Lydia had crowded a little closer to Stiles, claiming she was cold.

He's Derek's uncle, the only other original Hale blood.

"Forgive me, I’ve been lax in introducing myself and considering you are to be bonded to my nephew and therefore family, it's a horrible oversight."

"Your accent is..." Stiles stops himself, unsure if he's about to be rude.

"I sound like I'm from the cities of men, yes?" the uncle asks, smiling. "Yes, I went when I was a young lad. I passed through learning institutions and temples, all that had something to teach me. It was why I survived when the pack was attacked. I deeply regret that I was not here to defend my people."

"I'm sorry," Stiles offers.

"Anyway, I'm Peter. I wished to bid you proper welcome, and offer my service if there was anything you needed. I imagine ours is as much a strange world to you as the cities of men once was to me."

"I... yes. Lydia’s been an excellent guide and teacher and the Alpha has been very accommodating."

"Did you have any questions? You strike me as the curious type, much like myself," Peter offers, gesturing for Stiles to sit again and he does after a moment's hesitation. Peter drops elegantly to the ground, folded legs under him and Stiles wonders if he could ever appear that graceful doing something so mundane. "You can ask me anything, even about my nephew if you wish. I'll keep your confidence."

"Oh, um," Stiles hedges, a little thrown. He's not sure if Peter was sent by Derek to feel him out, has his own agenda or is simply being helpful but he can't quite shake the feeling that of the options, it's the second option that's brought Peter to him. He's been raised alongside his brother, he can recognize unfulfilled ambition when he sees it. Does Peter, being the elder of the Hale survivors, resent Derek taking the pack as his own?

"You don't trust me," Peter says, not sounding surprised.

"Forgive me, but I don't know you," Stiles says, trying to be diplomatic.

"Let me offer you a gift, then," Peter says, sweeping to his feet and suddenly over Stiles, gripping his wrist. "Did you know you could become a shifter through a bite?"

"I'd heard stories," Stiles says, swallowing hard and fighting the impulse to tug his hand back. Peter is breathing across his skin, warm and damp and Stiles wants to cringe away from him, hating that his sudden fear will be thick in the air, that Peter will be able to smell it.

"It will be easier for you," Peter says. His mouth hovers over the vulnerable, too-thin skin of Stiles' wrist. "You will be stronger, faster," Peter takes a deliberate pull of air, nostrils flaring. "Unafraid."

Suddenly Peter's on the other side of the tent and Stiles is confused for only a few seconds before Scott is bursting through the tent entrance, panting and with wide eyes, gold like they only are when he's about to shift. "What's going on?" he demands, all but a guttural growl, bristling at Peter's presence.

"I just wanted to offer my welcome," Peter says, bowing slightly and then sweeping out of the tent.

Scott turns to Stiles, grips him by the shoulders and pulls him close. "What did he do?" he demands, looking worried.

"Nothing," Stiles says, which is technically true. Scott doesn't look like he believes him, glancing pensively between Stiles and where Peter departed.

*

Stiles has traveled before but nothing like this. He suspects the pack stops more often and rests for longer in deference to the humans traveling alongside them. They seem tireless and he can imagine them covering great distances in a short time. They travel relatively lightly, but they still have supplies, cumbersome tents and animals. He watches in amazement as older shifters bear as much weight as the young, seem as full of vigor. He thinks of his own father declining rapidly in a damp, falling-down Keep and wishes fervently for his company, that he was seeing what Stiles was seeing.

The land they travel across seems endless and endlessly beautiful. Stiles holds hands out, brushing across the tops of tall grass. When there's a crack of thunder and the heavens open up with no warning, he laughs and joins the younger ones skidding through the mud until he ends up falling over in it, completely covered. It's not very dignified and if Stefan were to see him he would be horrified, but Stefan has been sticking with their father's soldiers for the most part, disinterested in any kind of integration with Derek’s pack..

Stiles hasn't seen him in days and feels guilty that he is so thankful for that.

He's being jumped on by a half dozen youngsters when strong arms catch him around the waist and pluck him out of the mud. Stiles blinks water out of his eyes, lets out a squeak of horrified embarrassment when he realizes it's Derek who's picked him up. He barks something at the children who all scatter, screaming and laughing and then he's walking Stiles out of the mud, setting him down by Scott who's chortling and Lydia who looks at him like he's lost his mind.

Derek is the most surprising though, smiling in a kind of fond exasperation as he swipes the mud off his front transferred by picking up Stiles.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were only eight summers old," Lydia scolds, ducking forward and skimming him quickly and efficiently out of his soaking, muddy tunic. He's left in nothing but breeches and he folds his arms over his chest, self consciously. Most of the men in the Capital that are not soldiers are built like he is, pale and slight. He's been getting some color, risking small jaunts in the sun, but he's still skinny compared to the shifters that stroll around in little but what nature gifted them.

He risks a glance at Derek. The Alpha had forgone Boyd's cursory physical inspection of him so it's the first time Derek has seen him half-dressed and Stiles expects to see disappointment in the Alpha's eyes but instead they're hot and dark as he looks his fill unashamedly. Lydia tutts, throwing a dry, rough hewn blanket across Stiles' shoulders and he could swear he hears a grunt of disapproval from Derek. Lydia makes a gesture at Derek, one she hasn't taught Stiles yet, but from Derek's face he's pretty safe in guessing it's a rude one and files it away mentally for later use.

"We're not far from the White Mountains," Lydia says. "We'll make camp before the sun sets and then we'll prepare for the pack meeting and gifting ceremony."

The rain stopped as quickly as it started and Stiles blinks up into the clearing sky. When he brings his face back down again, Derek is beside him, rubbing a corner of the blanket over Stiles' shoulders between his fingers. Stiles smiles and takes his hand. He knows the shifters are tactile, doesn't know if he's doing the right thing but by the surprised, pleased look Derek gives him as his own fingers curl in Stiles' grip, he figures he's not doing too badly.

They walk, Stiles holding the blanket on him with one hand and onto Derek with the other. He's stopped feeling quite so out of control. He's not sure when that happened but he knows for sure that Derek's gentle presence helps.

*

"The types of gifts are important," Lydia is explaining. Stiles feels a little ridiculous. He's sitting on top of a platform made of fur and branches so he's set higher than the visiting packs. Lydia is perched next to him, allowed to join him on the platform to translate and ensure he doesn't do anything horribly offensive which he is extremely grateful for.

He feels on display and judged but he supposes that's exactly what's supposed to happen.

His fingers migrate slowly to his face and Lydia slaps his hand away, quickly checking no one is looking at them before she does. He's been painted. He has no idea what the symbols mean but they seem to be a stylized version of Derek's own tattoo. The paint itches terribly and Stiles is a fidgeter by nature so Lydia might be fighting a losing battle trying to stop him messing up the artwork.

Stiles scans the milling shifters beneath him, picks out familiar faces. He sees Isaac, Erica and Boyd, all looking wild and in their element. Scott is sticking close to his platform and Stefan and the human soldiers have camped a little further out, safely separated in case there's fighting which Lydia has told Stiles happens. Stefan wanted to attend the ceremony, probably to greedily eye Stiles' gifts he thinks uncharitably, but Derek had insisted Stefan stay with his own men, some of the other Alphas not known for their tolerance of humans.

"I'm a human," Stiles had said and Scott had told him that Derek's answer to that had been that no one would dare disrespect Stiles because they risked Derek's wrath. Stefan, however, might find himself on the wrong end of a set of claws and Derek was disinclined to do anything about that.

Stiles sees Derek. His shoulders are painted silver, intricate tendrils that frame his tattoo and mark him as Alpha. Stiles can pick out the Alphas without Lydia having to say anything. They all have tattoos high on their backs and painted shoulders. Stiles is fascinated, not only because most of the male shifters have bare torsos even though there's still a chill in the air, clinging after the cold months. Stiles hopes it doesn't make him seem weak to be covered. He wants to make a good impression, not embarrass Derek in any way.

One by one, the Alphas from the other packs come forward, setting down their gifts. Lydia coos and smiles, explaining the significance to Stiles. There are no jewels or gold, none of the extravagances Stiles is expecting. He supposes it was silly to think of such things out in the shifter lands where they have no need of them.

Instead there are furs and food, tools and artistic pieces. There is jewellery, but stuff that the warriors would wear, not what would bedeck the more affluent of the Capital's denizens. Feathers and coloured stones dominate, Stiles touching everything reverentially and with real awe that the presenting parties seem to be pleased with.

He's stroking hands over a pure white blanket of the softest fur he's ever felt when there's a commotion, growls starting up, building in volume and ferocity. They're nearing the end, gifts being presented from larger, more powerful packs and there is an Alpha standing in front of him, a single, beheaded chicken thrown at the bottom of his platform.

Stiles opens his mouth to give the traditional thanks he's been repeating over and over, thinking it will be the one thing he'll be fluent in, when Lydia jabs him roughly in his side, making him choke off the words. "Ow, what-?"

"It's an insult," Lydia hisses as Derek strides forward, eyes glowing red and growl high-pitched and furious. The other Alpha flings a hand at Stiles and sneers through an answering series of growls. Stiles doesn't need to speak the language yet to guess at what he's saying, knows when someone is calling him unworthy, useless, _less than_ without having to hear the words.

He's had a lot of practice with Stefan for a brother.

Lydia starts making her way delicately off the platform, trying to tug Stiles with her. He's frozen though, watching Derek's fangs elongate, watching him roar so loud that it vibrates through Stiles' chest. "Honey, come with me. You don't want to see this," Lydia says. She's reached the ground, is holding her hands up to him and Ser Whittemore is beside her, looking like he wants to just throw her over his shoulder and run.

"I'm going to be bonded to him," Stiles says. " _All_ of him. This too."

Lydia looks upset, turns around and starts yelling for Scott, probably to forcibly remove Stiles from watching the melee but it will be too late. Derek has been challenged and he's _fast_. The other Alpha swipes at him, cutting deep gouges across his torso and Derek dances away, then flips, catching the other Alpha under the jaw with his clawed feet, tearing flesh. The other Alpha makes a pained grunt, seems to realize his error and backs up but Derek goes after him, launching himself up and then down, riding the Alpha down to the ground, ripping and slashing.

It only takes seconds and the Alpha is still, blood soaking into the sand around his prone form. Derek leans back, roaring again, this a roar of victory rather than outrage and his betas join him in a chorus of triumph. They press forward, pawing at their leader and he lets them touch the blood, painting themselves in it.

"Stiles!" It's Scott. He grips Stiles by the ankles and yanks and Stiles has no choice but to follow.

"It's okay, it's ov-" Stiles starts to say but Scott is hustling him away, shaking his head.

"It's not over. He's killed their Alpha. He'll be taking his pack. There's going to be fighting for position within the two merging packs."

"How do you know this?" Stiles demands. Scott was only a child when he was taken by humans, apart from the language, he knows about as much of shifter society as Stiles.

"Isaac told me to get you away, told me why."

"Will they be okay?" Stiles demands. He's thinking of Isaac, Boyd and Erica. The shifters that have been kind to him. He's thinking of Derek, how he's injured and how such injuries turn to infection on the battlefield. Scott’s ignoring him, pulling him faster and Stiles digs his heels in, manages to rip himself out of Scott’s grip. “Hey, stop!”

“We have to-”

“I’m not _hiding_!” Stiles yells. “I’m not cowering under my blankets! I’m not what my brother says I am!” Stiles surprises Scott and himself with his vehemence. The sounds of howls and fighting has faded a little so they probably should have heard the shifter coming at them from behind, but they were both too busy staring at each other and Scott’s eyes only widen at the last moment.

“Stiles!” Scott yells just as Stiles feels something tear through his back. He makes a punched out, pained noise and then Scott’s batting him aside and wrestling a shifter to the ground. There’s the sound of crunching and tearing but it’s muted as everything washes grey for Stiles.

*

Stiles figures he loses time, because when he opens his eyes, it's dark and quiet. There's the sounds of someone moving around and a hand gripped in his own. Stiles tilts his head until he can see it's Derek holding onto him. Stiles doesn't know why the sight of his Alpha slumped over beside his pallet makes his chest feel tight, also doesn't know why he feels the urge to dig the fingers of his free hand through Derek’s thick dark hair but he does it anyway.

He's just been ripped apart, he can't be blamed for poor impulse control.

Derek jerks upright at the touch and Stiles yanks his hand away, but Derek catches it and presses it to his cheek, breathing deeply. "Do you hurt?" he asks, brow furrowing in concern.

"No, I... wait. You speak _common_?" Stiles demands. Suddenly he knows what Lydia wouldn't tell him, what she was so amused by.

Derek ducks his face, looking sweetly embarrassed. "Who do you think taught my betas?"

"Uh, I thought maybe Lydia did but... I mean, yes, I guess that makes sense. Hey, how come I'm not in huge amounts of pain?"

"Because I am excellent at what I do," a man says from his other side. Stiles turns and eyes the stranger hovering over him with a kind face. "My name is Deaton."

"You're a healer?" he asks, surprised.

Deaton looks rueful for a moment. "Of a sort. I don't get much opportunity to practice my craft amongst shifters."

"Derek, are _you_ okay?" Stiles demands, shifting around until he's upright, feeling a tightness at his back that must be bandaging but ignoring it so he can paw at Derek and then frown in confusion when his hands meet nothing but whole, warm skin.

"We heal... fast," Derek says. "Slower if it's another Alpha that has injured us but it's been a few days."

"That I've been out?"

"Yes," Deaton agrees. "I made you sleep so you would heal and not tear the stitches I needed to close your wounds with. I figured you were someone that would tear stitches."

Stiles makes a face, but can't really argue. "Can I see the... how bad?" he asks. He's already got unfortunate marks on his body, the last thing he needs is to be horribly scarred. He can imagine that Derek will take one, disgusted look and toss him aside like he should.

"Sure," Deaton agrees. "Alpha Hale, would you?" Deaton gestures and Derek nods, hooks hands under Stiles' arms and hoists him up like he doesn't weigh anything. There's a mirror set to the side of Stiles' tent, one of the small treasures he was allowed to bring with him and had kept close which had belonged to his mother. Derek helps Stiles out of his sleep tunic and then Deaton carefully unwraps his bindings.

There are four distinct claw marks across Stiles' back. What he's amazed by is that the marks look weeks old rather than only days. Derek fits his fingers over the marks, making a low rumbling noise that sounds like hurt and apology, both. "What happened?" Stiles asks shakily as Deaton ushers Derek out of the way and re-coats Stiles' back with a strong smelling paste and then wraps his back, helping him into his tunic after.

"It was the mate of the Alpha I defeated," Derek says.

"Scott-"

"Is fine. She was older and more powerful than he was, but he was made strong by you, to protect you."

"It was my fault," Stiles says in a small voice.

"No, why would you say that?" Derek says, herding Stiles back to his pallet, frowning at him.

"He was trying to get me away. I was stupid, completely-"

"Stiles, it wasn't your fault," Derek says firmly, gripping Stiles at his nape and squeezing. It’s not a reprimand but a reassurance and Stiles slumps into the touch.

"Is it all peaceful? All done?"

"Yes," Derek says, nodding. "The Alpha I defeated was strong but cruel. His betas followed through fear, some taken by force from other packs. I let those that had family go, others chose to stay. Our number swelled by eight hundred."

"Wow, that's... a lot," Stiles says.

"You will be Haleesi to a great pack, unlike anything men have ever seen."

Stiles swallows, hard. "Stefan will be pleased. His army grows." Stiles can't really help but feel disappointed by the thought. He's learning to greatly admire Derek's pack and he can't imagine them fighting for his brother, winning a crown in his name. The thought of Stefan ruling anyone depresses him.

"You’re not?" Derek asks, looking oddly hesitant, like he's worried about disappointing Stiles.

"I... no, it's good, _great_. You're a good leader."

Derek still looks unconvinced, but seems to be willing to let it go. He leans forward, stroking a thumb across Stiles' cheek, under his eye. "I was not able to give you your gift at the ceremony. Would you like it now?"

Stiles beams at him, makes _gimme_ hands and Derek chuckles, turns to Deaton and says, "Would you ask Isaac to bring the gift?" Deaton nods with a smile and disappears. Only a few minutes later, Isaac appears and he's holding what Stiles at first thinks is another furry blanket, but then he sets it down and it stands up on four legs and flicks pointy ears forward.

"Is that a pup?" Stiles squeaks in glee and the small creature gambols right over to him and into his waiting arms, licking his face for all its worth. Derek makes a noise and Stiles looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I see there's another that will be able to lick you whenever he pleases," Derek says wryly. "I might get jealous."

Stiles snorts, cuddling the pup and rubbing his face in soft fur. It's a _wolf_ pup, mostly black with a grey muzzle and white socks. Stiles holds him out, grinning giddily but then has an awful thought, remembering the shifter children and that they looked much like this when they changed. "Wait, this isn't someone’s _kid_ is it?"

Derek looks comically horrified. "What? No! It's a direwolf, a wolf from the North. They grow large and ferocious but they're fiercely protective."

"You're so ferocious," Stiles coos at the direwolf, who yips excitedly and tries to bite his nose. "That's what his name will be, Ferosh."

"I'm glad you're pleased."

"This is the best gift," Stiles gushes. "I'm not just saying that because it's you."

Derek smiles, a soft, indulgent thing, but then it dims. "I was worried you might be afraid of me when you saw... a lot of humans fear us."

"I'm not a lot of humans," Stiles says, letting Ferosh chew on his fingers as Derek settles back next to his pallet.

"I'm learning that."

*

The bonding ceremony is a lot less eventful than the gifting ceremony. Stiles feels oddly less embarrassed when Boyd and Isaac strip him down to just his breeches and paint his body with symbols that make his skin tingle. He's getting used to the overabundance of skin on display in the pack and that the shifters genuinely see it as normal. It helps that Isaac chases Scott out of the tent with a knowing smile before they begin.

Stiles gasps a little when he's led outside. The pack's swollen number take his breath away. He'd seen vast armies of men before, arrayed in uniform lines and groaning under the weight of armor and title. Seeing the ranks of shifters, so natural and wild is vastly different. Stiles had always felt out of place in his father's castle and amongst the soldiers but now...

Stiles feels a swell of something he can't yet describe. The shifters flanking him must sense a little of it because Boyd looks askance at him with a rare smile and Isaac squeezes his wrist in silent support. Lydia and Ser Whittemore are waiting for him as he passes, Lydia darting forward briefly to hug him before she retreats.

Derek's eyes glow in the firelight when he's presented. Stiles swallows hard when he sees the two objects at Derek's feet. One is a monstrous looking creature, black furred and wicked fangs with its throat torn out. Derek has blood splattered across his chest and the monster's body still steams in the cool night air, a recent kill. The other is the pelt of the Alpha Derek had defeated, the shifter returning to its wolf form in death. Stiles wonders idly what Derek looks like fully shifted.

An older woman nods down at the carcass of the creature, Stiles can't even identify what it is, is just very glad he hasn't confronted one alive. Derek crouches down and slashes open its chest with his claws. He reaches in and drags out the heart of the creature. His eyes are completely red when he hands over the dripping heart to Stiles.

Stiles knows about this part of the ceremony, had Lydia talk him through it. He's to eat the heart in its entirety. If he can't finish it, or brings any of it up, then the wild gods do not bless their union.

Stiles tries to tell himself that it's like eating any meat, that he'll be able to get through it. He looks into Derek's face, concerned but yet trusting all at once. He looks at the gathered shifters and at Lydia and Allison pressed together, clutching hands, at Scott who has thrown off the Stilinski armor completely and looks like any other member of the pack.

Finally, he catches sight of Stefan just outside the circle. Stefan's face is set in a look that tells Stiles that he's sure he'll fail, that he'll fall short like he always has. Stiles' resolve firms and he takes the heart, bites into it without hesitation. He concentrates on chewing and swallowing to the exclusion of anything else and before he knows it, his hands are empty of anything but blood.

Derek makes a noise, a half-feral and yet proud sound but before he can reach for Stiles the woman puts a hand to his shoulder, nods at the Alpha's pelt and Derek takes it up, drapes it over Stiles so that the wolf head is over his own. Derek then _grins_ and grabs Stiles up, kissing him, unmindful of Stiles' bloody mouth.

*

Stiles' giddy euphoria lasts until Derek carries him back to his own tent. His scent must change because Derek drops him abruptly and steps away, looking a mixture of hurt and disappointed. Stiles doesn't really understand what's happened, mostly because Derek's low grumbling is all shifter language.

"You have to speak common. I can't..." Stiles makes helpless gestures with his hands and Derek snatches a look at him, rubs his own hands through his hair and then lets out a long, low bellow. Stiles isn't sure what it means until the tent’s entrance is pushed aside and Scott's there, looking worried.

"What's... what's going on?" Stiles asks, wondering if he’s failed in some way, if Derek's found him wanting, what he did wrong.

Derek is still growling and grumbling, making quick little gestures with his hands and Scott's frowning at him. Stiles jabs him and Scott waves him away.

"He doesn't think you..."

"He thinks I'm unwilling?" Stiles guesses and Derek throws him an annoyed, exasperated look. He snarls something and Scott pulls a face but then leans into Stiles' space and sniffs him. "Hey!"

"Stiles, he has a point. You don't smell... receptive."

"I'm scared out of my mind," Stiles says. "That doesn't mean I'm not-" Stiles says to Derek feeling impotent anger that yet again he hasn't lived up to expectations, that he's doing the wrong thing _again_. Everything inside him hurts and he's not sure what changed between the ceremony and the tent, what _could_ have changed. Derek looked so...

"I'm sorry," Derek says gruffly. "This is never what you wanted and I was selfish to think that-"

"Scott? Could you give us a minute?" Stiles asks and Scott must be extremely grateful to be leaving them to it, he retreats so fast. Derek watches him go, then ducks his face when Stiles approaches him. Stiles takes a steadying breath, then grips Derek's chin and tilts it back up. "This isn't exactly how I pictured my life going," Stiles says and Derek makes another grumbling noise, one of disappointed resignation.

"But-" Stiles continues. "I might not be able to control how I smell. I can only tell you how I feel."

"How do you feel?" Derek asks after a beat, looking painfully hopeful.

"I feel... _wild_ when I'm with you, like I can do anything. I feel powerful and strong. I won't pretend that you don't frighten me but it's not... I'm scared about how much I feel for you in such a short time, how fathomless it is. I think what you smell is the fact that right now I'm standing on the edge of an abyss, about to step off."

"We must..." Derek pulls a face and Stiles takes the initiative to smooth Derek's furrowed brow with his fingers. Derek catches his hand, presses the fingers to his mouth. "We must _consummate_ for our union to be recognized. I don't want to push you, but I don't want to risk losing you either."

"I'm here, I'm yours," Stiles says and Derek's smile is gentle.

"Mine. My sun, my moon," Derek says, touches places on Stiles' face and he realizes that Derek is touching his moles, the marks he's always hated. "My stars."

There's a noise from the tent entrance and Stiles turns his head enough to see Peter looking mostly bemused. Derek doesn't pull away from Stiles, gathers him closer instead with a low growl and Stiles wonders what Peter smells like to make Derek's hackles rise like that.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Peter says, not sounding sorry at all. "Just, there's been an altercation. One of our new sisters is demanding to see you."

Derek lets out a low sigh, then casts a glance at Stiles. "Go on," he says, smiling. "I'm not going anywhere."

Derek nods, gives Peter a hard glance as he passes back out of the tent and then Stiles is alone with Peter. Ferosh appears, trotting into the tent and giving Peter a wide berth. Stiles grabs up the wolf pup and holds him close, perching on the edge of Derek's pallet, uneasy. "You do know you're really creepy, right?" Stiles says finally when the silence gets too much for him.

Peter lets out a short, sharp bark of laughter. "And you have a mouth that will get you into trouble."

"I find it gets me out of it, mostly," Stiles says, rubbing one of Ferosh's ears between his fingers. The pup whines a little, obviously sensing Stiles' discomfort in Peter's presence.

"I've been talking to your brother," Peter says, sounding conversational but Stiles' unease grow immediately. "He's starting to doubt our Alpha will keep his word, that he's planning to abandon him and his men in the High Wastes to be feasted on by crows."

"Where would he have gotten that idea?" Stiles asks slowly, trying to control his breathing, the erratic way his heart has started beating, but he can't.

"Men with high, although completely unfounded, opinions of themselves are very easy to manipulate, or so I've discovered over the years."

Stiles stands slowly, setting Ferosh down, eying the tent entrance and trying not look like that's what he's doing. He knows he's not as fast as Peter, that he can't hope to outrun him, but maybe he can make enough noise that either Derek or Scott will come for him. "I guess you're very good at it right? Manipulating people?"

"I've become quite adept, yes," Peter says, glancing at his nails. "I've also taken the time to make ties with other packs in case opportunity arose and here it is. There is a pack to the East under an Alpha named Deucalion that has been spoiling for a fight with the humans. This Alpha doesn't need payment to go to war, just an excuse."

"That's great," Stiles says, suddenly hopeful. "You and Stefan can head on over there and go warmongering to your hearts' content." He's suddenly almost giddy, thinking that Derek's pack might be spared the indignity of a long, bloody conflict that will result in Stefan ruling. If anything, he's not ashamed to admit, they might even go so far as to stand in Stefan's way if Derek is released from his deal.

"Stiles," Peter tutts, shaking his head. “Deucalion might not require payment, but I most certainly do."

Stiles frowns, because the Stilinski family has little of value left. Stefan frittered away what money they were left with after their father was ousted trying to win back the favor of their bannermen to no avail. "He doesn't have the coin to back up what he offered you, I'm telling you now," Stiles says. "Or has he promised you run of the coffers in the Capital when he wins it?"

"Nothing so gauche," Peter says, smiling. "Derek and I are very similar, our tastes have always run the same way."

"What does that mean?" Stiles demands, feeling cold all over. His eyes dart to the tent entrance again and Peter outright laughs now.

"Oh don't worry, both Derek and Scott are handily occupied. Turns out, Scott's mother was part of the pack we absorbed and caught his scent on the wind. I couldn't have asked for a better distraction."

Stiles takes in a breath, but before he can let out a yell, Peter is on him, grabbing him up and holding a large palm over his face, his mouth. "Would you really want the last thing they hear of you to be you screaming for help like a coward?" Peter chides. He manhandles Stiles towards the back of the tent, Ferosh going _crazy_ around their feet. Peter kicks the puppy aside and it yelps and goes quiet, that spurring Stiles to struggle harder than ever but Peter, like all the werewolves, is too strong.

Peter slashes the back of the tent open with the claws of the hand not holding Stiles to him and drags him out. Derek's tent is on the edge of the encampment and only Stefan and their men are behind it. Stefan is waiting when they reach him, Stiles gone limp with horrible resignation.

"I really don't understand the appeal," Stefan sniffs, eying Stiles hanging in Peter's arms.

"You don't have to," Peter says jovially. "This will destroy my nephew. When I come back to challenge him for the pack, he'll be a shade of himself. Especially if I tell him that Stiles here is long dead."

"You're going to kill him?" Stefan asks and Stiles, who had always clung to that idea even through his cruelty that Stefan cared for him deep down, finally lets it go in the face of Stefan's complete disregard for him.

"No, but Derek won't know that. When I challenge him, I'll be painted in Stiles' blood and he'll imagine the worst for himself."

Stiles, in one last act of desperation, bites down _hard_ on Peter's hand. He feels blood in his mouth, as salty and hot as the predator's heart Derek had given him for their bonding ceremony and Peter lets him go, more out of surprise than real pain. Stiles stumbles sideways and then forward, right into Stefan who grapples with him.

Stiles gets his arms free and punches Stefan. It's ridiculously satisfying to feel Stefan's nose break under his fist and Stefan cries out and goes down. Stiles leaps over him and runs, just picks a direction and goes and he can hear the sound of someone, of _Peter_ pursuing him. "Derek!" Stiles screams at the top of his lungs. He's always been told he's loud, he only hopes he's loud enough now.

Something catches his ankle and Stiles flails forward and then down, skidding along the loose packed dirt and scraping his chin and palms. He's grabbed by the legs and dragged back. He lashes out but Peter just dodges his blows, cackling about liking spirited prey. His laughter halts abruptly though when Stiles hears the sound of a lot of swords being drawn.

"Let him up," a voice all but snarls, but it isn't one of the betas or even Derek. Stiles rolls his head back, sees about a dozen men in Stilinski armor looming over them.

"Dad?" Stiles is certain at first that this vision, his beloved father is a hallucination brought on by fear. Mostly because he hasn't seen _this_ father in years, the strong, able man with the piercing gaze and the no-nonsense countenance.

"Stiles," his father says, and that's when Stiles realizes that this is all real because he's never heard his father sound so broken, so upset. Even when his mother passed. "Gods, what-?"

"It will take me mere seconds to kill the lot of you. It will be inconvenient but I will do it," Peter threatens, still hovering over Stiles.

"Maybe," his father says. He raises his sword, levels it at Peter's midsection and adds in a calm, conversational tone, "I've heard tell that Shifters can heal almost anything. _Almost_. Seems you don't deal too well to being cut in half. So please, I beg you to try."

Stiles looks across at Stefan as Peter wavers. He's never seen his brother so unsure, so frightened. His father's attention also flicks to Stefan and his expression is ferocious. "You! Did you not think I would come? You steal out in the middle of the night with a bunch of glory hound deserters, sell your own _brother_ into bondage, all so you can wear a crown and you don't think I will run you down to the ends of the world?"

"Father-" Stefan starts, looking truly cowed and Lord Stilinski cuts a hand through the air.

"Silence!" he roars. "You are coming back to the Keep to face punishment. I will see to it that you wear a crown, but you might not like it as much as you imagined and it won't be made of gold."

Peter shifts then, taking the opportunity of Stiles' father's distraction to leap away into the darkness. Three archers in Stilinski colors try to shoot Peter but he's too fast, gone into the night.

"Take him," his father says, flicking his chin at Stefan and five men swarm forward, seize Stefan who wails and kicks as he's dragged away. Stiles' father drops to his knees by Stiles, cradles Stiles' face in his big palms. "What have they done to you?" he moans, distraught.

Before Stiles can reassure his father, the men around them tense and raise their weapons. Stiles sees Derek, Isaac, Boyd, Erica and Scott galloping towards them, Derek leading the charge. Ferosh is darting between their feet, small and determined.

"No!" Stiles cries as the archers aim at the oncoming shifters. Stiles pushes inelegantly to his feet as the archers pause, tugs himself out of his father's grip and flings himself into Derek's path. He's not sure how he knows exactly who he's looking at since they are all fully shifted, but he does.

He's nearly bowled over by Derek as his father yells, "Stiles!" in an almost panic to see the large, black wolf with the red burning eyes skid to a halt in front of Stiles.

"It's okay!" he says as Derek almost knocks Stiles over and it must be his laughter that stays his father's hand as Derek snuffles over Stiles, whining. Scott, all long-limbs and shaggy brown fur, pushes in with his muzzle, smearing his cold nose over Stiles' cheek. Erica and Isaac are each mouthing at one of Stiles' boots like they're tempted to just grab him and haul him bodily back to the encampment. Only Boyd is calm, sitting on his haunches off to the side, watching them with his head tilted quizzically.

"I’m fine!" Stiles bleats, smacking at Derek and Scott and they finally relinquish him. His relief and joy is almost overwhelming as Stiles wraps arms around Derek's thickly furred neck and hugs tight. Derek makes a low, pleased rumble deep in his chest that vibrates through Stiles' body.

"Dad, I'd like you to meet someone, but under all this fur he's _very_ naked right now, so maybe we should retire back to the camp?"

*

"I hope you don't think I gave Stefan permission to take you for this lunacy," Stiles' father says when they're back in his tent. The shifters have left them, Derek mouthing uncertainly at Stiles and obviously loathe to leave his side but Stiles had shoved him off, instructing him to find clothes and give them a few moments for Stiles to explain what has happened.

"I didn't... I'm not sure what I thought," Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and cuddling Ferosh tightly to his chest before he sets the pup down to roll around their feet. "You seemed so disconnected."

"I'm sorry," his father says, crossing to Stiles so he can grasp and squeeze his hands. "I'm sorry it took your disappearance for me to realize that I'd let myself decay as much as the Keep I was hiding in. I've let you down terribly, both of you. Stefan changed into this... was capable of _this_ on my watch and you-"

"I'm okay, honestly," Stiles reassures. "More than, even."

"You're sure?"

Stiles nods, then frowns. "How did you find us?"

"The men that slunk back to the Keep with their tails between their legs. I would have come sooner except I didn't know where to start looking for you until they arrived. Our Huntmaster, Daniel, was able to track the pack when we had a starting point."

"Stiles?" Scott's head appears through the tent entrance and then he bows it hastily. "My Lord Stilinski."

"Scott, I think we can dispense with formality, hmm?" Lord Stilinski says with a tired grin and Scott bites at his lip, nodding.

"I was wondering if I could introduce Stiles to my mother."

"Gods, yes!" Stiles enthuses, jumping up. His father sighs but gestures for Scott to enter and he does, towing an older, dark haired woman behind him. Her name is Melissa and she's lovely, with Scott's dark eyes and his quick smile. She tilts her head and Stiles huffs, takes her hand and places it on his own throat. She looks surprised but pleased at his gesture.

"Scott has told me how you treated him as a brother, how you showed him nothing but love. I'd always feared the worst but to know he had family, he had _pack_ -" She chokes up a little, dashes quickly at her brimming eyes.

Someone else clears their throat from behind them and Melissa and Scott step aside, Melissa with hands clasped around Scott's bicep like she never wants to let go. Derek ducks into the tent and Stiles puts a hand to his mouth to try and stifle a chortle because it looks like Derek is wearing one of Ser Whittemore's _shirts_ tucked fastidiously into his pants. His feet are still bare, which makes the ensemble all the odder, the wildness of him still apparent.

Stiles' father steps up to Derek, face serious and says, "Are you going to fight me when I take my son home?"

"Dad-"

"Of course not," Derek says, face carefully neutral. "I realize now that Stiles was no one's to give away and will not hold you to Stefan's bargain."

"Wait a minute-" Stiles starts to protest.

"I'm glad," his father interrupts. "Even though it would be hopeless, I would still try."

"Excuse me!" Stiles protests and Derek and his father, who had been staring at each other, finally look at him. "Does anyone not care what I want?"

His father blinks at him and Derek's stoic facade cracks just a little. "Stiles, it's over. You don't have to honor-" his father starts to say and Stiles very deliberately crosses to Derek and tucks a hand around his arm.

"I _want_ to stay with Derek. I'm his and he's mine."

"Stiles-" his father starts to protest but Stiles holds up his free hand.

"It's not fear or honor or any other misguided notions speaking. It's _me_. My place is at his side, in his pack."

"Are you sure?" Derek asks, and he sounds awed and hopeful all in one.

"How could you think otherwise?" Stiles chides gently, poking Derek in the ribs with his free hand.

"This is highly..." Stiles' father seems to run out of words then, just huffs and flails his hands a little. Stiles sees himself in the gesture and his heart aches with it. He could become his father some day, so strong and wise and _good_ and he wants that, but he knows where he has to be to realize his potential. " _Are_ you sure?"

"My pack is strong and ferocious. We could take your lands back in your name," Derek offers and Stiles' father blinks at him.

"I have lands enough. I'm done with war, with death for glory's sake. I'm not interested in a crown any longer, wasn't really interested in it when it was mine. Probably why I lost it in the first place." His father's grin is wry, a little sad.

"Stiles tells me that your people go without much, your buildings crumble," Derek says and Stiles' father waves him off.

"We can rebuild. Our ancestral lands are large but neglected."

"Let us help you then," Derek offers and Stiles squeezes him, astounded. Derek smiles gently, a little wider and prouder when he adds, "My people are strong."

"I... don't know what to say," Lord Stilinski says and Stiles knows it's probably pride that is stopping him from agreeing readily.

"Our two families join as one. Let me do this."

Making it a request, a way for Derek to prove his pack's worth, sways his father and he blinks hard as he nods, thinking of the people that grow hungry, the soldiers that have stayed loyal when they should have fled. "Thank you," he says finally and reaches out a hand. He looks a little startled when Derek takes it, presses it to his throat.

"You are the father of my heart, you will never be below me," Derek says.

"Should we-?"

"You've travelled far and we have much to discuss. Let us settle your men and we will feast," Derek proclaims and Stiles' father nods, looking wide-eyed. Scott steps forward then, motions for Stiles' father to follow him out of the tent without being told. He hesitates for a moment before he crosses to Stiles, who lets go of Derek to hug his father close and hard.

When they're alone, Stiles throws arms around Derek's neck. Derek laughs, but the sound becomes a choked off grunt of surprise when Stiles jumps so he can also wrap legs around Derek's waist. "Apparently, we have some consummating to do," he breathes, directly into Derek's ear.

"Your heart races like a rabbit's," Derek says, holding onto Stiles but still looking damnably unsure.

"I don't know what to say other than yes, there's fear but there's also a few other things mixed in there and they're all good, I promise."

"In that case," Derek says and darts forward to seal his mouth around Stiles' in a searing kiss. He walks with Stiles still wrapped around him until he reaches the pile of furs and blankets in the corner of his tent and he lowers Stiles gently to them. His large hands sweep down Stiles' sides and then curl under his back to turn Stiles over.

"Can we... I just... want to see you," Stiles pants, resisting the push and Derek blinks at him in surprise before he nods slowly and then dips down again, snuffling against Stiles' collarbone before burying his nose in his throat.

"I want to soak in you," Derek says, unsheathing a claw to slice through Stiles' shirt and the ties that bind his breeches together. He sheds his own shirt and pants in a similar fashion and Stiles can't help giggling helplessly into Derek's shoulder.

"Ser Whittemore will have your hide for destroying his shirt," Stiles says and Derek snorts before he's licking the crease between Stiles' leg and groin and Stiles fights the urge to curl into a ball. It's a hot and ticklish sensation and he bats at Derek's head, tugs at his ears and says, "Come back up here."

Derek does and soon they're rutting against each other, careless in their abandon. Derek's careful where Stiles is impatient but they both still when Derek enters Stiles for the first time, awed into shocked silence. 

Stiles grabs at Derek, wanting him closer, wanting him further _in_. Derek's mouthing at Stiles' shoulder and Stiles can feel just the edges of Derek's fangs. That tosses Stiles right over the edge, Derek dragged with him and they cling together, both panting raggedly, before they ease apart, not far enough that Derek can't get a possessive hand tangled in Stiles' hair and Stiles a grip on Derek's naked hip.

*

"What's this?" Stiles asks, touching fingers to his father's painted cheek.

"It was the children," Stiles' father says, shrugging him off and blushing furiously under the stripes of red and white across his cheekbones. "They've proclaimed me their Alpha."

"That's adorable," Stiles says, grinning helplessly. "I'm not sure Derek would be too pleased that you're overthrowing him by working on the young ones first."

"It was just a game," he says gruffly, then he eyes Stiles, eyes clear and the sadness mostly washed clean from his features for the first time in as long as Stiles can remember. They're sitting under an heirloom tree, watching shifters and the people of the Stilinski lands working together, bringing the Keep and the fields surrounding it slowly back to life. Stiles feels his chest ache to watch Erica throw back her head and laugh when a young farmhand tugs playfully at her hair, Isaac and Boyd dipping their heads and accepting water skins from obviously enamored kitchen maids. Scott and his mother are handing out fruit to the children tearing around, shifter and human children indistinguishable.

"What's that?" Stiles asks, standing when he notices something on the horizon. As he watches, his father rising to his feet by his side, he sees that it's men on horseback, dozens of them carrying banners. After a moment, Stiles recognizes the sigils, Bannermen of his father all before he was overthrown.

Derek appears behind Stiles, silent as always. A low, warning growl starts up in his throat but Stiles puts a hand up to him, touches his cheek and brow gently. "They're not coming to fight us," he says, more than a little amazed.

"You're sure?"

"They ride in a negotiation formation," his father says, sounding a little amazed himself.

"Lord Daehler is with them," Lydia says, joining them, something steeley in her expression.

"Daehler will not like so much the negotiations I have in mind for him," Stiles' father says.

Derek leans back, lets loose a long, chilling howl and Stiles hears the answering howls start up across the Stilinski lands. He joins them, Derek looking at him with delighted eyes as Lydia and then his father take up the howl as well.

**Author's Note:**

> [here i am on tumblr](http://kellifer-k.tumblr.com/)


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